My Happy Ending
by Blue-Eyed-Blacksmith
Summary: I'm a bitter woman when I'm alone for too long. And I'd been alone for too long. I liked people. But people had to stay away. Because people turned into friends. And friends turned into problems. So I had to be alone. Bitter and alone. Deal with it, Claire. :: Complications arise when a certain hunky blacksmith pushes his way into one lonely farmer's life. Graire
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Harvest Moon.**

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-Blue

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><p>As a child, I had always loved fairy tales. My favorite stories were the ones about the princesses. There were always these helpless damsels, who started off poor and alone. They were then saved by a dashingly handsome prince...and then they lived happily ever after. I liked to imagine my life was a fairy tale. Everything was perfect. Even if things may have seemed bleak, in the end everything would have to turn out right. Just like in the stories. I'd have my very own happy ending.<p>

But this isn't a story about happy endings.

It seems from the day I was born I was forever destined to have a sad, lonely life. I was never meant to be one of those beautiful girls who ended up happy—with a brave prince to sweep me off my feet. My mother always used to tell me to never stop dreaming—I should never be brought down by things that others told me. Things that were out of my control. But the things that others kept telling me weren't just words; they were reality. And I couldn't run from reality forever, even if I may have wanted to.

My troubles seemed to start in the city. We used to live in the countryside. We owned a small ranch house...but we didn't actually own animals or grow crops. My grandfather however, was a farmer. He and my grandmother spent most of their lives working on that farm of theirs. I always loved to visit them. They had all kinds of animals for me to play with—though, with my adventurous vigor, they never were too fond of me. Sometimes I would sit outside with my grandfather for hours while he tended to his crops. I would make sure to sit nicely and not say a word so I wouldn't be dragged back inside by my mother because she thought I was disturbing him. But I didn't mind not being able to talk. Instead, my grandfather would tell me all kinds of things. He'd tell me of his childhood and all the crazy things he did as a boy. He'd tell me of what my father was like when he was my age. And he would talk about the farm and how much it meant to him.

I loved when my grandfather spoke of his ranch. His eyes would fill with such emotion and he would always have a large smile upon his lips. He described what I first considered as "a huge stretch of dirt" in such a way that soon I too found myself loving the farm just as much as he had. He would always tell me about hard work and how he had to give one-hundred percent in order to get the results he wanted. Even though it may have been tiring, the final product was always worthwhile. He inspired me to do my best in all I did. Being a quitter wasn't something that was in my blood, he used to claim. We were genuine, pure-blooded, hard-workers. I think he was right. Well, about most of that anyway.

Eventually, things began to fall apart for my family. Grandfather's farm wasn't doing very well. The men from the city who usually bought his crops found a new supplier. With less money to spend, my grandparents had a hard time affording the materials needed to keep their crops healthy. So everything began to die. I remember going to visit them one day during my family's depression. I hadn't seen my grandparents in a while, so I was excited to come see the farm. But when my father pulled the car up, a horrible scene was displayed before my young eyes. My grandfather's beautiful field, which he put so much of his time into, was now a field of death. There was nothing green in sight, only the rotting brown color of the dead carcasses that remained. The barn, that was always so full of life and noisy animals, was now empty. My grandparents had sold all of their beloved furry friends in order to scrape up enough money to pay the bills. I was devastated and heartbroken.

The worst part of all was the look on my grandfather's face when I walked up to greet him. I had never considered my grandfather that old of a man. Sure, age-wise he was far older than I. But his spirit was always so young and carefree. Sometimes he even seemed like he was a kid again. But now his age was really starting to show. His face usually bore wrinkles from smiling too much. Now they bore wrinkles from his stress and aging. His eyes no longer held that jubilant sparkle. He was broken, and there was nothing I could do to mend him.

I wish I could tell you that my grandparents managed to save the farm and got things back to normal. But I can't. Eventually, they sold their ranch and found a small condo in the city to live in. But they weren't there for long. My grandmother died a week after they moved. My grandfather went a month later.

I'm not sure if it was because his parents had just passed or because we no longer had any family out in the countryside, but my father decided one day that we were to move. Like my grandparents, we traveled to the city and bought a petite place in an apartment building to live in. My mother tried to sugarcoat the place by calling it cozy. I considered it cramped. It had only three rooms: the bathroom, the bedroom, and the kitchen-living area. I had a tiny cot in my parents' room that I would curl up on every night. My parents claimed the place was merely a temporary home. We stayed there for two years.

But things did get better, at least after a while. We actually did get a new home. A much bigger and nicer home. To be honest, some might've argued that it could even be considered a mansion. I didn't care either way—it was just a house. After working many grueling hours at his office building as a low-paid journalist, my father finally struck up some luck. A big-time magazine stumbled upon one of my father's short articles in the paper and called him up right away. For whatever reason, they saw something in his writing that my father's old boss didn't. So they offered him a job, with a paycheck you couldn't refuse. It took no time at all for us to get back on our feet. My father even went on to publish a few books. They weren't the biggest craze or anything, but they still sold enough to rake in even more cash for us.

One would think that I had it all. A luxurious house, a fancy school, plenty of money, and anything I desired. But it wasn't that simple. My mother easily adapted to our new rich lifestyle. As for myself, not so much. Shockingly enough, I found the fact that we could get anything we wanted absolutely repulsive. I remembered my grandfather's words, and how he spoke of hard work and determination. The only one who had actually done any work was my father, but he had more or less retired after his third book was released. My grandfather would have been ashamed of all of us.

I didn't like our new life one bit. I hated the dinner parties my mother always threw. I hated the golf outings my father dragged me to. I hated all the official people around the house that always seemed to be asking me questions. I didn't want to go to all the fancy schools just because I could. I wanted to go to a public school and learn like any other student would—I didn't want to be treated differently from anyone else. I wanted to listen to my grandfather again while he worked on the ranch. Most of all, I wanted to live on my own farm and raise crops, just like my grandfather. It was my dream.

And then when I was fourteen, things began to change. My mother became more timid and frightful. My father developed thick worry wrinkles near his brow. I wasn't allowed to leave the house. I was given more and more things—things I didn't even want. My mother felt she needed to spend more time with me. My father felt he needed to spend less. More and more people I didn't even know kept coming to visit and bother me with those annoying questions. I got older and nothing changed. I continued to grow and tons of people seemed to be watching me all the time. I felt like I was in a fish tank.

So I left.

I was twenty-four when I decided enough was enough. I was done with everyone and their stupid advice. I was through listening to everyone's words. I was tired of living the perfect life and being watched by everyone. And most of all, I was tired of being told what I couldn't do. I was going to live the rest of my life how I wanted. And I wanted to live on my grandfather's ranch. Unfortunately for me, the property had been sold and the owner would only sell it for a price I couldn't afford by myself. I didn't dare ask my parents for money, for they surely wouldn't like the idea of me running a farm. So I found a different ranch to run in a faraway town. Even better, it was dirt cheap—cheap enough for me to purchase with my inheritance money and still have a decent amount left over. Though, I realized why this was when I first arrived.

"You're Miss Till?" a short, plump man asked. He had round glasses and a fire engine red suit—it even had a matching top hat. Most people would probably find his appearance comical, but I liked it. Then again, I wasn't exactly normal myself.

"Claire, please," I nodded, giving him a pleasant smile.

"Nice to meet you, Claire—I'm Thomas. I'm the mayor of Mineral Town," he said. He held out his hand for me to grab.

I had to reach down to complete the handshake, a first for me. "It's a pleasure." Good manners were a genuine trait to have, my grandfather had always told me. I took his word to heart.

"Zack can take your luggage for you." he instructed, turning on his heel to begin walking. "I'll show you to your farm."

I suddenly noticed the bulky man to my right. His hair was thick and went straight up. Literally. I found myself staring, pondering how he was able to style his hair in such a way. Did he use gel? A fancy hairdryer? It wasn't that tall, but it still made me wonder. Aside from his kooky hair, he had a furry mustache and a toothy grin.

"Here, I'll take those, Miss Claire!" he announced. He stepped forward with a bounce and reached for my suitcases.

"Oh no!" I clutched them—the two of them—in my hands. "I mean, thank you-" I dipped my head. "But, I'd prefer to do it myself, you know? I don't want everyone to just do things for me."

Something seemed to twinkle in Zack's eyes. "A true worker!" he exclaimed as he threw one hand affectionately around my back. "Thomas, I have a good feeling about this one!"

I laughed at his compliment. "You have my grandfather to thank for that." I informed him. I decided I liked Zack. Unlike Thomas, who was just being overly nice because that was his job, this man was genuine.

"Sounds like a fine man!" Zack declared.

"He was." I nodded, a smile on my face.

"Oh-! I'm... Sorry..." Zack released me, stumbling over his words.

"Don't worry about it," I chuckled. I adjusted my grip on the suitcase handles. "It was very nice to meet you—I'll be seeing you, Zack!"

"You bet! Goodbye, Miss Claire!"

I beamed, nodding my head in reply back to the man as he waved broadly after me. Thomas lead me through town at a steady pace, which was surprising since his legs were so stout. Everywhere I looked I could see green. There were flowers of all colors along the path as we walked—I almost stopped to drop and pick one. The town was so full of life. So different than the busy city. I inhaled deeply, taking in the fresh air. My lungs seemed to purr in delight. Everything about this place felt so right—it was like I had been destined to come here.

I became aware of the fact that Thomas's pace had slowed greatly all of a sudden. At first I figured he had just gotten tired. But then I noticed how he continued to glance back over his shoulder at me when he thought I wasn't looking; he had a bleak look on his face. What was his problem? Was he afraid of me or something? I didn't have time to ask however, for we had rounded a corner and arrived at our destination.

My grandfather would have been ashamed of the previous owner of this farm. The fields were full of weeds, twigs, and rocks. Nothing about it looked fertile...or even worthy of being planted upon. The barn was missing boards and was full of holes, definitely not suitable for any animals. And the house—peeling and unstable—didn't look like it was large enough to possibly live in.

"Well, you probably want your money back now, huh?" Thomas sighed, a saddened expression on his face.

I found myself unable to speak. What exactly was I supposed to do now? Go back to the disgusting city—remain locked up in my parent's home like a prisoner for the rest of my life? I clenched my fists around the suitcase handles.

"No, of course not." I instantly shook my head, answering both Thomas and myself.

"You're...serious?" Thomas looked as if I were playing a mean prank on him.

I took a deep breath in and cast my eyes around the farm again, trying to look at the positives. The field may have been a disaster, but it was a field nonetheless. And a large field, at that—my grandfather's field would have looked small in comparison. If I could get it clear, it could definitely become a garden of green. The barn was definitely fixable. But, until then, there was a chicken coop that still looked like it was in good shape. I could busy myself with chickens until the barn was ready for more animals. There was a beautiful stream that outlined two sides of my farm as well as a clear pond. Those both would be perfect for watering—grandfather had only a single well to venture to for a refill. There was even a large tree rooted near the pond. Perhaps it might bare some apples in the fall. And let's be honest, the house was heaven compared to my family's old apartment. I could definitely work with this.

"Yes." I insisted.

I couldn't help but to grin. Thomas must have shown so many people this lot before and they all must have turned him down. And here I was, actually seeming _interested _in this junky place... I would have thought it was a joke too. But, regardless of its rugged exterior, I wanted this ranch. And I wanted to get to work on fixing it up right away.

"Is there a drugstore or market in this town, by chance?" I questioned. "I want to buy some seeds."

"Y-Yes, there's a supermarket on the north end of town." Thomas still looked bewildered. I stifled a giggle. "Just take the path from your farm straight—all the way down to the end."

"Thanks!" I chirped. "Well, I'm off to settle in now. Thanks for everything, Thomas!" With that said, I turned on my heel and walked over to my new abode. The handle, though rusty, turned smoothly in place. I stepped a few paces inside before throwing the door shut behind me, leaving that little red man to stand gaping after me.

The house itself was quaint, but had a homey feel to it. Unlike our old apartment, the place actually was cozy. There were about four sections to the house. The first section was the living area, or so I'd call it. There was a faded couch seated in front of an ancient looking television. There was a simple bookshelf—empty of all but about five books—and small end table. There was also a little chest in the corner which, once I opened it, proved to hold tools for the farm. Well, isn't that the added bonus? There was a wall that extended almost all the way to the other end of the room on the right side of the living area. If you walked over you'd see that it sectioned off the bedroom area—which simply was a bed and a nightstand. To the left of the living area was the kitchen. Surprisingly, it had just about everything you would need: a refrigerator, a stove, utensils, and even a blender. There was also an unsteady looking wooden table with four equally as wobbly chairs to eat at. Last but not least, there was a bathroom leading off of the kitchen. I was relieved to see that little dinky room—I had thought I'd need to get a bucket or go do my duties outside. Yuck. It wasn't much, but it was enough. And now it was my home.

And so I began my life on the farm. It started slow at first, but eventually things got easier. It took me about a week and a half to clear out my field. My grandfather would have been able to clear it out much faster. Probably in two to three days, honestly. I, on the other hand, was a first time farmer who had to stop for breaks every so often. Aside from a few large rocks and stumps that my hammer and axe (and strength) were unable to remove, it looked ready to use. I planted some turnips and cared for them every day. I even managed to scrape up enough money to buy a chicken. The chicken coop, as I had predicted, truly was in really nice shape. My hen, who I had named Cluck, settled in nicely. Zack gave me the idea to go forging to earn some extra cash. I didn't think I'd have the stamina to mine, so I just gathered all the herbs and plants I could find after I had finished tending to my crops each day.

Although I still had a good amount of money left over from my inheritance, I didn't want to touch it unless completely necessary. After all, if this whole farming thing didn't work out as planned I'd need to make sure I had enough cash to get home. Or, if my parents had decided to disown me, to find some new place to live. So I kept that money tucked away and started from scratch. I felt like I truly was following my grandfather's code. I was putting in hard work to earn money; I wasn't just using the cash I already been given to buy whatever I wanted.

Before I knew it, I finally had a good amount of money on my hands. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to finally afford a cow. And I was very eager to get one. But first I needed a milker, and maybe a brush. So that was how I ended up at the Blacksmith's that fateful day. Looking back, I probably would've avoided a whole lot of hurt, pain, and even heartbreak if I had just stayed away. And yet, I don't regret anything.

I walked to the door with a smile on my face; I was excited. Because of my immense devotion to my farm, I hadn't really left my ranch to meet the other villagers since I had moved in. So whomever worked here would be someone new to finally meet. I pushed the door open and a tiny bell jingled, signifying my presence. But no cheerful shop owner came to my greeting. Instead, I discovered that I had just walked in on a heated argument.

I had entered the building at a bad time, that much was clear. In front of me was a small, old man with long, white hair. The top of his head was mostly bald and he had a long, fluffy beard to match. His eyes were narrowed in anger, though thankfully it wasn't aimed at me. I directed my attention to what—or better, who—he was glaring at. In the left corner of the room was a tall man, around my age. He had fiery hair peeking out from under a peculiar red and blue hat that bore the word "UMA". He had two striking blue orbs (currently narrowed into silts) and a long, pointed jaw. His face twisted up as he was glowered back at the old man. He waved his arms above his head in exasperation as he spoke rapidly. Okay, time to get out of here-

"Face it old man, you never liked me and you never will!" he snapped, slamming the hammer in his hand down on the table. I flinched, suddenly finding myself frozen in place. I did not want that hammer aimed in my direction, and I was afraid that any sudden movements might cause for a bad reaction. It was clear from his build and the way his clothes fit snugly to his body that this man was no stranger to physical labor. He most likely worked in this shop pounding away at tools all day long.

"You never learn, boy!" the older man hissed back. "You've never respected me or worked as I've instructed!"

"I've always done _exactly _what you want!" the redhead snarled as he whipped his hammer at the wall. The tool hit the hard surface with a clatter before splitting into two pieces and falling in a heap to the floor.

Okay, I was awake now.

"You've hardly even done that!" the balding man barked. "I tell you to work with heart, with pride, and you do no such thing!"

The other man snorted obnoxiously. "'Work with heart,'" he mimicked. "Whatever! I'll never be good enough for you, and that's all there is to it!"

I let out a squeak of surprise as both men suddenly turned towards the door and noticed me. "O-Oh, um, hello..." I tugged nervously at my overalls. "I...came to purchase a milker... But maybe I should just come back later-"

"Oh nonsense!" the old man huffed, his tone changing to one of welcome. "Gray! Go get this young lady a milker from the back!" I'm sure the redhead, Gray, wanted to tell the man standing before me to "piss off". Yet he obeyed, disappearing almost instantly into the back room.

"Th-Thank you..." I chimed in softly, still feeling out of place.

"Sorry you had to witness that, it was very inappropriate of us," he apologized. "My name is Saibara, and I run the Blacksmith here with my grandson—that oaf—Gray."

"Oh, that's alright." I lied. I reached into my pocket and pulled out some money. I quickly fished out the correct amount for the milker and handed the wad of cash to Saibara. "I'm Claire Till—I just purchased the farm across the way." Although I was eager as ever to get out of there, I still had my manners.

"Ah, so it's you who everyone's been talking about!" He smiled up at me. I flashed back my own weak grin and rubbed the base of my neck. So everyone was talking about me? Go figure. Small town—word must travel fast. "You know, it's a great responsibility to run a farm all on your own." He cast me a look of doubt. Like the one parents gave to their children when they thought they couldn't handle something.

"Yes, I know that." I nodded in irritation, trying to stop myself from rolling my eyes. He wasn't about to begin to tell me what I could or couldn't do; I'd already dealt with enough of that. I wasn't a child—I could do this. "But I also know that, with a lot of hard work and determination, anything is possible."

Saibara glanced back up at me. If he hadn't been paying attention to me before, he definitely seemed interested now. "Such wise words..." He rubbed his chin slowly. "I've never heard them spoken from someone your age."

I bet he didn't, based on how short-tempered his grandson seem to be. I bet the two of them probably fought like that all the time. "Just something I learned from my own grandfather," I told him. "He's the wisest man I ever met..." I paused. "And, I'm not just saying that to be a kiss ass."

He laughed at my words. "No, I don't think you are." he agreed. "I can tell you genuinely loved and respected your grandfather." I nodded instantly, glad he understood. "Now if only I could say the same about my grandson..." He sighed in aggravation.

"Oh, he can't be that bad," I argued, not wanting to judge someone I didn't even know. "He just needs more time to learn."

"He's had too much time for that." Saibara grumbled. He sighed once more before shaking his head. "Sorry again, I shouldn't be telling you—the customer—about all of my burdens."

"It's perfectly fine-"

Suddenly the back door opened again and Gray came stomping out. "Here's your milker," he told me, a scowl on his face.

I reached out to take it from him. I wanted to get out of the shop quick, before another brawl broke out. "Thank you-"

"Honestly, Gray!" the old man behind the counter bellowed. "Do you have no manners? Be a gentleman and carry it to the farm for her!"

"Seriously?" the man huffed. "Her farm is, like, literally ten feet away."

"Do it!" I was surprised at the amount of venom in Saibara's tone.

"Alright, alright! Sheesh!" Gray brushed past me and strode toward the door.

The milker actually looked a lot heavier than expected, so I hastily pushed past him and shoved the door open. "Here, I'll get that for you," I offered. I stepped aside and held it ajar.

The storm in Gray's eyes dimmed noticeably. "Thank you," he nodded, stepping out in front of me.

I glanced back at Saibara briefly before exiting. He was still sitting at his spot behind the counter, grumbling to himself. "Maybe if I'm lucky, some of that girl's personality will rub off on that buffoon..."

I bit back a laugh as I gently shut the door and hurried to catch back up with Gray. He glanced over at me when I arrived at his side, a curious expression on his face. "Sorry you saw that," he mumbled. "Gramps and I fight often, but never in front of a customer."

"It's alright," I shrugged. "Just water under the bridge now."

He flashed me an uneven smile. "Anyway, I'm Gray."

"Gray, like the color. Easy to remember," I beamed at him as we turned and entered my farm.

He looked away, suddenly flustered. "Ah, Gray Farrier, to be exact."

I laughed out loud. "How fitting! Farrier, like a horseshoer?"

"Exactly like that," he confirmed. He stopped in his tracks and turned, his expression curious. "I'm impressed, most people haven't even heard of that word before, much less know what it means."

"I know my terms." I shrugged and flashed him a teasing smile. He averted his gaze again and stared at the ground awkwardly. Obviously, Gray was easily embarrassed. I felt my smile grow larger. Soon my eyes skirted back up to that colorful piece on his head. I was intrigued. "Though, I'm not familiar with the word on your hat..." I still found it so unusually interesting; it was unique in its own way.

"Oh, this?" he questioned, nodding his head as he glanced upward at it. "My mother got it for me when she was in Japan. She liked to travel, and she usually got me a souvenir whenever she was away. It means 'horse' in Japanese." I grinned, and soon even he managed a sliver of a smile. "She, like you, made the connection with our last name. She thought it was funny."

"It's neat, really," I agreed. I reached up and flicked the red brim. I watched as his eyes widened—he seemed to have sucked in a deep breath of air. "If I ever rake up the cash to afford a horse, I'll make sure to ask you to make him some nice, sturdy horseshoes."

Slowly the color returned to Gray's face. "I've actually never made horseshoes before," he replied. "It would be fun to try."

Suddenly the manners fairy hit me on the head. "Oh, and I'm Claire," I informed him. I had only just realized I hadn't introduced myself. "Claire Till."

"Till—like a tiller." Gray noted. "What a perfect name for a farmer."

"I guess our names fit us well," I chuckled. I became aware of the fact that we were both just standing there near my mailbox; Gray was still holding my new milker. My new, heavy milker. "Oh right—that can go in the barn for now. Here, I'll show you." I said hastily.

I led the man, who was much taller than I, into my broken barn and indicated a spot for him to leave the tool. He bent down to set the white object on rickety looking table before rising back to his full height. "This place needs some work," Gray commented, glancing around.

"I know." I sighed. It was on my list of things to do. When it would be done...that was another story. I suppose I had kind of gotten ahead of myself with the whole "getting a cow" thing. "Zack told me there's a carpenter in the forest, just south of my farm? I was thinking about hiring him to fix it for me."

"That's Gotz," the redhead replied, snorting once. "But I wouldn't go with him—though his work may be pretty good, he charges far more than he really should."

My smile faded. "True, but who else would I get to do it?" Well, there goes my hopes of getting a cow anytime soon. I guess it would just Cluck and I for awhile.

"You could always fix it yourself," Gray suggested. "I could show you how to chop wood down into boards and you could repair the place on your own."

I considered his offer briefly. But, the more I thought about it, the less possible it seemed. I already had a chicken and crops to tend to, and those already took most of my energy away each day. Now I was also supposed to chop wood and build a barn with my own bare hands? "Sorry Gray, but I'll have to pass," I told him with a frown. "I don't think I'd be able to manage that."

Surprisingly, the boy seemed slightly disappointed. "Ah, well if you change your mind just let me know." He looked away, adjusting his hat again. He did that a lot when he was nervous or flustered, I noticed.

"I will." I promised.

I walked with Gray all the way back to my farm's entrance. We didn't talk anymore, but I really didn't feel like there was much more to say. It was a content silence; I believe it was safe to say that we had gotten off on a good note. "It was nice to meet you, Claire Till."

"And you, Gray Farrier." I beamed.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment. He avoided my eyes once again as one hand reached up to straighten his cap, once again. "Ah, I'll be seeing you?" He didn't look completely sure.

"Of course," I nodded. "I'll definitely be needing some new tools soon enough, my current ones are pretty old."

"Alright, sounds like a plan." He nodded once and flashed me a half smile before turning and heading back in the direction of his shop.

I found myself humming as I returned to my turnips. I was happy to see that the new batch was coming along just as well as the last; it would only be a day or two until I could harvest them. After a few moments I sat back, panting. I really hated how easily I tired out. I wiped the sweat from my brow before slowly getting to my feet. A nice, cold shower sounded great right about now. I carefully put my tools away before I removed my clothing and stepped into the bath. The faucet didn't spray out a huge amount of water, but it was enough to begin cooling me down.

I let out a soft moan of delight as the water sprinkled down on my shoulders before trickling down my back. As I waited for my hair to dampen so I could begin to apply shampoo, I thought back to the day's events. Though my visit to the Blacksmith's had started off rocky, it had ended well enough. Saibara definitely seemed fond of me, and I think Gray may have liked me too. Maybe in time the two of them could even become my friends.

Suddenly I froze in place, shampoo bottle in my hand. Wait a second—what was I thinking? I set the bottle back down and shook my head, bewildered. Friends? Where did that come from? I pressed my back against the tiled, shower wall and closed my eyes. Friends, that's what I wanted. But friends were something I couldn't have. I didn't move out here to make friends; I moved out here to get away from my old home and live my life in peace. Developing friends wasn't part of the plan. Having friends would only complicate things. I could _not _make friends here.

I began to realize that my actions weren't helping to keep me from remaining friendless. From the moment I bought the farm, all of my actions had been nothing but friendly. I always had a cheerful chat with Zack when he came to pick up my shipments. I always greeted Karen and her parents when I went to purchase things I needed at the supermarket—sometimes I even helped them when new shipments came in and new items needed to be put on the shelves. I also even brought Thomas some of the vegetable salad I made the other day because I had leftovers. It wasn't the kind villagers to blame, but me and my overly friendly personality.

I wasn't following my original game plan at all. The plan was simple: find a farm, buy a farm, move to the farm. Then start and maintain the farm. And lastly, live out my life in peace. Away from the city, away from my parents, away from everyone. I did steps one through three right; it was step four I seemed to be having trouble with. Well, no more. It was time to get back to my main agenda.

It all had to stop. No more playing nice with everyone. Things needed to change.


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry it's been forever since the last update. I had a lot going on with school and writer's block was a large issue for awhile. :( But I am back! Hoping to have this story finished by the end of the year (the latest) so I can start on my next project!

Want a better way to keep track of what I'm up to and any updates I have concerning my stories? Follow me on my twitter, I always tweet whenever I'm working on something and give you updates on when I think I'll have the next chapter up! I'm LadyJFrost_. _There's a link to my page on my profile.

As always, please remember to review and tell me what you think! Thanks! (:

-Blue

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><p>Defriending people isn't as easy as it may seem, let me tell you.<p>

It was nothing like those sites on the Internet. Just one click of the mouse and- Bam. That person was gone from your life forever. Well, unless you re-added them a few days later. Or if you knew them personally and saw them the next day. Alright, so it wasn't exactly that easy. But you get my analogy.

Not that I had any of those accounts myself; I'm not speaking from experience here. I detested the Internet. Computers in general, really. I hated how obsessed people became with technology. Always glued to those little rectangular devices in their pockets. Always checking the web for updates. I was more of the outdoorsy type. I'd rather be outside getting covered in dirt than indoors sitting around in front of a glowing box.

My mother developed a large addiction for social networking sites at one point. It was absolutely revolting. She was always on her computer. Or her iPhone. Or her iPad. Or whatever other i-things we had. I stopped keeping track. And, when she wasn't, she was talking about it. Showing us some "funny" video one of her snooty rich friends had sent her. Talking about some inappropriate picture my third cousin (twice removed) had posted. Reading my dad some of the reviews people had written about one of his books online. I don't understand why he humored her; it only encouraged her to keep it up.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is: friends don't just go away with the click of a mouse.

I will admit that I went about the situation in the worst way possible. I seemed to think that acting cold and distant—the exact opposite of how I usually was—would cause the townsfolk to lose interest in me. Well, I suppose naturally it should. If you were mean to someone, typically they wanted nothing to do with you. So maybe it wasn't the worst idea; it actually may have worked. But it wasn't an effective method for someone like me. Because I was completely incapable of dishing out a proper insult while still sounding convincing.

I went into the supermarket on Wednesday like I always did. And when I say "like I always did" I meant just as I had done the Wednesday before this one. I had also gone a few times on other days, but I had started limiting myself to Wednesdays only. But instead of calling out my usual perky greeting I merely made my rounds, selecting a few packages of seeds. From across the room Karen yelled out her own obnoxious salutation, like she always did. Normally I'd laugh and walk over to have a short chat with her. But instead, I pretended not to hear her as I crossed the room to the counter. As if I didn't hear her. I'd come to learn that Karen had an ear-splitting set of pipes. She was quite a vocal girl. I silently pulled out some money before Jeff had finished ringing me up. I already knew how much. The total was always the same—my purchase was always the same. Jeff seemed a little confused as he took my cash. He handed my change back to me with nervous hands.

I wanted to say something sweet to get him to relax a little, like I always did. The manners fairy was having a fit at how rude I was being. But I ignored her. I had to, if I wanted this to work. I collected my seeds back up without another word. I didn't even say thank you. Boy, was she pissed off now. I slowly crossed the room, headed for the exit. I was almost in the clear. Almost free.

But of course, Karen didn't let me off that easily. "Claire!" A hand griped my shoulder. A little too roughly, might I add. But that's Karen. Spunky, in-your-face, obnoxious. I actually was pretty fond of how open she was about her feelings. I for sure didn't have the guts to tell a person exactly what I thought of them straight to their face. "Claire, I said hello." A genuine smile on her lips, though with a twinge of annoyance. Karen was easily agitated.

"I heard you." I nearly flinched, the words were so cold. Did that just come out of _my _mouth?

The brunette in front of me was equally as baffled. I don't think I had ever said one mildly rude comment around this girl. Let alone _to_ her. She quickly regained her composure, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Excuse me?" So condescending. Like I was the little school child who just talked back to the teacher. It reminded me of life back at home. That gave me just enough fire to send back another retort.

"I said I heard you." Okay, not much of a retort. But that was still pretty insulting coming from me.

Suddenly the girl before me grabbed my shoulders with both hands and peered around, as if looking for something that may be standing behind me. I couldn't help myself—I glanced behind me too. So naive. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I heard someone talking behind you." Her voice was laced with sarcasm; Karen was much better at the insulting game than I was. Her comebacks were much more witty. "Now, what did you say?"

"I..." Can't do it. My outer shell was cracking, the true Claire trying to break free. I grimaced, she saw. Her face changed; a flicker of realization. She knew, those eyes softened. "Oh, um, sorry... I'm just really tired today, is all..." That's right, retreat with your tail between your legs. I was awful at this and I knew it.

The girl flipped her hair out of her eyes. It was long and flowing, like the stars from TV had. Not nearly as long as mine, but much prettier. Softer. Sleeker. Let's be honest, this girl was a walking model. And she knew it. She was eye-candy for all the boys in town. At least, that's what I assumed. I didn't know the boys in town. "You do seem a little out of it today," She ran her hand through her brown locks, fingers toying with the single blonde streak. "You should probably hit the hay early tonight." The same hand dropped from her hair, gently giving my shoulder a squeeze. Karen was also very handsy, but I didn't mind. That was just the way she expressed herself, after all.

I tried to keep the distaste off my face. I wasn't ac_tually _feeling tired, I had just said that. Well, no more than usual at least. "Thanks, I will." I gave a brief nod before quickly slipping away out the door.

Dammit. I really was awful at this.

The next few days followed in a similar fashion. Hello, Claire! Rude remark. Confused response—I saw the hurt, the anger. Don't break. Don't break. Stay strong. Don't- Can't take it, I break. Apologize. Make up an excuse. Continue on my way. I was the worst insulter in the world; I didn't have a mean bone in my body. The manners fairy sat smugly on my shoulder—she felt superior.

If possible, my actions only made people more concerned. Made them want to get more involved in my life. Ironic, huh?

I tried to avoid going out as much as possible. Just once per week, to the supermarket. I'd avoid everyone more easily that way. Wouldn't have to partake in awkward, not-so-mean conversations. But eventually I needed to go to the one place I dreaded most: the Blacksmith's.

My rusty, old sickle had finally cracked, surprise surprise. I mean, it was only like fifty years old, after all. Possibly much older. Surprised it lasted as long as it did. Anyways, that meant I had to travel across the street to that little shop. That quaint little building I had hurried past on my way to the supermarket for the last several trips. Because I didn't want to run into Saibara, the kind old man who reminded me slightly of my grandfather. Or Gray, that boy that I so often found myself wondering more about.

In and out. That's all I had to do. Be quick; don't allow time for conversation.

That same bell jingled as I entered the shop. This time however, I did not come face-to-face with a heated argument. I quickly scanned the room and let out a soft sigh of relief: Gray was no where in sight.

Saibara seemed to brighten from behind the counter. "Ah, Ms. Till!" His eyes squinted together because of his grin. "I was beginning to wonder when I'd see you again."

"Been busy," I replied briskly. This visit needed to be quick. In and out, I reminded myself. "Anyway, I need a new sickle."

If Saibara was put off by my briefness, he didn't let it show. "Of course." His tone was kind. Always kind. That only made this harder. He walked to the back, to the door that lead down to who knows where. Would I even find out what was down there? Probably not. I shouldn't, if I kept up this charade. "Gray! Bring up a new sickle."

I went still at his words. Oh no. Didn't they have new sickles laying around up here? Why did Gray—_of all people_—have to bring it to me?

The man downstairs yelled up a response I didn't make out. As Saibara returned to the counter, I already had a wad of cash waiting for him. "He'll be up in a moment," he told me. He stared at the money for a moment before taking it and quickly counting it out. "Exact change—you in a hurry?"

"Um, kind of." I admitted. The old man tilted his head, causing me to unnecessarily ramble on. "I woke up late today, so I'm a little behind on my chores." I lied.

"Eager as ever," he chuckled. "You're quite the dedicated farmer. I always see you working hard out in your field when I pass by on my way home."

I nodded; he stared. I tugged my overalls and kept talking. Hypnotized into saying more. "I love my farm." What was it about this man what made me feel like I had to explain myself? To give more than the bare minimum. "I feel at peace while working on my crops. I care for them, help them grow." Unconsciously, a smile stretched across my face. "The feeling of satisfaction I get when my crops are ready to harvest is indescribable."

Too friendly, Claire.

Crap. The smile was wiped away; I was a clean slate again. Emotionless, indifferent.

Suddenly the door opened and Gray appeared, carrying my sickle. I glanced up briefly, stealing a glimpse at his expression. Gray was staring straight at me, the hint of a smile upon his face. I glanced down at my shoes, suddenly nervous. What was I supposed to say if he spoke to me? Could I actually be mean to this man? I peeked up at him again. He was standing behind Saibara, awkwardly holding the sickle out in front of him. Like a servant presenting his master with food. He looked nervous, anxious even. So vulnerable. I could tell he wanted to say something, but he just couldn't seem to get the words out.

No, I could not be rude to Gray. He was so much more delicate than Karen or Zack. I'd crush him if I were to say something awful. In and out, I repeated again. I paid, now it was time to go.

"Thank you," I quickly took the sickle from the redhead, looking anywhere but at him. "I'll see you." I turned instantly on my heel, headed straight for the door. I saw his mouth open in surprise as I hastily snatched away the tool. But no sound reached my ears before I pushed that door shut behind me.

I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding in. Well, I had made it. That went harmlessly enough. I may have been a little too chatty with Saibara, but I was pretty disinterested overall. I answered his questions, but didn't have any for him. And I hadn't said a word to Gray—my thank you had been aimed at his grandfather.

I felt a pang of regret as I crossed the short path back to my farm. I'll admit, I truly had wanted to talk to Gray again. He was quite interesting; I found myself wanting to know more about him.

But I couldn't. That wasn't in the cards for me. Distance was good. Distance was key.

I sighed and headed over to tend to my turnips.

* * *

><p>I kept up the act for a few more days. Before I knew it, spring was halfway over. Had it only been about two weeks since I had arrived? I remembered the exact date I arrived in Mineral Town: Spring 2nd. Apparently I just missed the New Year's Festival, Zack had informed a few days later. But that was okay. Festivals meant more people. More people I didn't need to meet. Because I wasn't making friends.<p>

Right.

The whole "mean act" was proving to be more and more challenging as the days passed. I still hadn't successfully blown anyone off and I was beginning to run out of excuses. Zack kept pestering me every day when he came for my shipments. He was concerned, thought I was sick. Oh, if only he knew that half of it. I was extremely fucked up, that's for sure.

There goes the manner fairy again. Even in my own head I can't swear—she's such a pest sometimes.

I blame my mother for her presence. Back before we moved, my mother was strict. But, to a degree. Once we moved to the city, she became more intense. Much more overbearing. She smothered me too much. Always hovered, always in my business. She made me want to scream sometimes. I would purposely get into trouble just to get back at her. I remember when I started coming home with notes from my teacher. I remember how livid she got. My mother was strict, but she never yelled at me. Never. That was the first time she ever raised her voice with me.

I was never a troublemaker; I was a good kid. But, like I said, my parents had basically banned me from the outdoors once I turned fourteen. I came home with notes from my teacher as a sign of rebellion. Like me play outside or I caused trouble in school. All silly, stupid disruptions. Nothing too major, just enough to get my teacher to write a note. I had never thought in a million years I'd be one of those kids who the teacher constantly wrote notes to home about. And yet there I was, disrupting the class with silly questions. Making fart noises from my desk. Tossing pencils at the boy across from me.

After the eighth note my mother couldn't take it any longer. She snapped. Nothing too major, just a typical parental scolding. But it scared the hell out of me, that's for sure. Who was this woman? Where was my soft-spoken, sweet mother? Eventually I managed to convince her to let me go outside again. My mother was pretty susceptible to guilt trips, I had learned. It didn't last long, my outside time. But it was still wonderful while it lasted.

Despite it all, my mother's strict ways stayed with me. Foul language was a big no-no for her. I always found myself using proper manners—watching my mouth. If I didn't, the manners fairy always seemed to be around to remind me.

I'm not a lucky person. Definitely not. Pretty clumsy, too—but maybe that goes hand-in-hand with the whole unlucky thing. Just ask my parents, I think they'd have to agree with that statement. Or ask my doctors, they'd probably agree too.

So, of course, eventually my hammer broke. All of my tools were falling apart, it seemed. I knew I needed a new one. And I knew where I had to go to get a new one. But I really didn't want to go back there. And yet, I did. I wanted to see that boy with the UMA hat. But I knew I shouldn't. I couldn't.

I stalled all afternoon, putting off my trip to the Blacksmith's. But I couldn't wait forever—they closed at four.

At three-thirty I finally forced myself over there. I stood at the door and looked at the wooden surface, unable to bring myself to open it. I just stared at the yellow, faded paint. At all the grooves and the spots where the color had chipped away. There was also a lot of scratches and nicks, I noticed. It even looked slightly bent in at the bottom...had someone kicked it at some point? Probably Gray, after a heated fight with his grandfather. That boy had gotten awfully angry that day I first met the two men. I still remembered when he had whipped that hammer at the wall... I shivered, shaking my head. For someone so easily embarrassed, Gray could actually be pretty intimidating. When he was mad, at least.

I was lucky, Gray wouldn't even be there. Maybe he got off early. Maybe he was sick and couldn't make it in today.

Like I said, I wasn't a lucky person.

I walked inside and came face-to-face with those blue eyes of his. Crystal orbs that peered into my soul, stealing all my secrets. He had a startled look upon his face. Surprised, but excited? A hand reached out toward me. One much larger than either of mine. A worn, beat-up hand. There was a bandage around his index finger and his nails were cut short.

Not good. Abort mission. Abort-

"Claire-"

"H-Hammer!" I stammered out. The redhead stared at me, confusion evident on his face. I slipped past the boy, ducking under his arm as I hurried over to the counter. "I- I need a new hammer."

Saibara looked at me curiously, his expression unreadable. He glanced over at Gray, who stood paralyzed by the door. It looked like he had just been about to leave when I walked in. Great timing. If only I had stalled a little longer. What was he thinking? Please Saibara, just say something. Before the boy behind me does. "Unfortunately, we don't have any hammers in stock right now," the old man replied, turning his attention back to me. I felt my face drop. I had come all this way for nothing? "But we're expecting a shipment in a few days, we'll have some then."

"Okay," The wheels in my head started turning again. "I'll pay now, then come pick it up when it arrives." I quickly fished out some money and paid the man. "Thank you." I dipped my head once and turned on my heel. Now I just had to get out that door. That is, if I could avoid the stoic man standing with his hand on the doorknob.

I tilted my head, my brow crinkling up anxiously. "Uhm, excuse me..."

"S-Sorry."

A jolt of electricity. A flush on his cheeks. A squeak slipped out of my mouth. We stared, our expressions mirroring the others. His fingers had only briefly brushed against mine as I reached for the handle, but it felt like I had been poked with a cattle prod. Not that I had any experience getting poked with cattle prods. I'm just saying.

"I-I..."

I didn't let him finish. I was out the door, my heart racing. So much for in and out. That visit had lasted far too long. Two hundred and twelve seconds too long. Not that I was counting. Okay, I was. Sometimes I counted when I got nervous. It was some stupid method my mother had taught me once when I didn't want the doctor to give me a shot. Just count in your head, Claire. Keep counting, see how high you can get. I was ten, so I knew how to count pretty high. Silly mom, didn't you know that? One, two, three, four... See? Easy as pie. Five, six, seven, eigh- Ow. Ow! Why didn't you warn me he was going to stick me with that needle? But it's over now. He's putting a Hello Kitty band aid on my arm. Just barely glimpsed that tiny dot of red before it was covered. I survived, this time.

Back at the farm. I'm panting. Jeez, what was wrong with me? Get a grip, Claire. He's just a boy. Okay, not a boy. Definitely not a boy. He was a man. Definitely a man. Just look at the way those clothes clung to his body. That muscly form of his... I bet he was ripped beneath that shirt. I bet he could easily rip that shirt. Off. I bet he could rip my shirt off, too.

And now I'm thinking about a shirtless blacksmith ripping my clothes to shreds. Okay, enough of that.

Back to the turnips. My newest therapy method. Plant them, water them, watch them grow. Harvest, and start again. Rinse, lather, repeat. Routines were good. Routines were easy to follow. Routines made sense. And who didn't make sense? Gray. He turned my brain to mush and had me forgetting the code I was supposed to be following—that lovely "no friends" code. Man did I hate the code. But I needed it. It had structure. Structure was good. Structure was like routine. Routine was boring, but routine kept me going.

I had stopped watering. Back to the turnips, Claire.

I didn't exactly know when my hammer was supposed to come in—Saibara didn't say. He said a "few days". How many was a few? A couple was two. So a few was three? Several was at least four. I think. Whatever, it didn't matter. Saibara would tell me when the hammer came in. I for one definitely wasn't going to go barging in there again until I knew for certain that my hammer had arrived. I didn't need any more unnecessary interactions with Gray. He'd make me forget my mission again. Probably poke me with the cattle prod again too. And then he'd get me to start thinking about what's under that shirt of his.

And now I'm thinking about sexy, shirtless blacksmiths again. Couldn't I go a day without doing that? I kept finding that, at some point during my day, thoughts about a shirtless Gray somehow made their way into my head. Somewhere along my stream of consciousness. It had been two days since I first thought it. But it just wouldn't go away. Not that I minded. Really, I didn't.

But I shouldn't.

I sighed and rose back to my full height, brushing hay off my hands and onto my overalls. Whatever, that's why you wore them in the first place, right? I'd wash them later. Farming was messy work. Came with the territory, grandfather always said. You can't have a farm without a field of dirt. Cluck clucked at my feet. I smiled; that was pretty cute.

Shut up. I know I may have this macho, gruff exterior thing going on, but I'm still a girl. Okay, so my exterior is anything but macho. And the same could be said about my interior. I'm kind of pathetic looking, really. Five foot four—_barely_—and a thin, slender frame. Pale skin, due to a lack of sunlight all my life. Thanks mom. Real intimidating, I know. I suppose I could do my hair into a thick, tight braid and whip people with it. That would actually be pretty amusing. I'd carry my weapon with me everywhere I went. A long, blonde weapon attached to the back of my head. It was not exactly a stretch. Have you ever been hit in the face with hair? And I don't mean just any hair; long, thick girl's hair. Well, I suppose it could be a guy's hair too. I don't judge. You're walking in the hall and suddenly your friend turns, hitting you in the face with those deadly locks. Even been hit in the eye? Stings like hell. Oh, just ignore the fairy; she doesn't like vulgar language.

I'm a bitter woman when I'm alone for too long. And I'd been alone for too long. I liked people. But people had to stay away. Because people turned into friends. And friends turned into problems. So I had to be alone. Bitter and alone. Deal with it, Claire.

I watched as Cluck pecked at the seeds I had just laid down for her, my mind wandering all over the place. Sometimes I wondered if I had ADD. My mind darted around far too often. I was stuck in my head a lot. Kinda unavoidable when you sat indoors all day long. Again, thanks mom. Sometimes my thoughts got a little strange. A wee bit dark. Scary goes hand-in-hand with dark. Just like unluckiness and clumsiness. I tried to be positive most of the time. My life wasn't exactly the most "positive" thing. But I tried my best. But when I was alone, it was harder. So much harder. So sometimes my thoughts flipped to the other end of the spectrum. That was why I surrounded myself with people. That was why my code was so hard to follow.

Alright, back to the turnips. Today was harvest day for one of the patches; water the rest. Rinse, rather, repeat. Go do some work, Till.

I walked over to my house and grabbed the rusty watering can I had left by the door. No use bringing it inside; it was already rusty. As I walked to fill it at my pond, my mind soared off into space. Taking flight as it raced higher and higher, far away from here. Pondering the many mysteries of the world.

Suddenly someone cleared their throat and I nearly fell forward into the clear water. I hastily set down the watering can. Shipment time already? Zack was always extremely punctual. Always here at five o'clock on the dot. No, seriously. I clocked him a few times with my watch. Kind of creepy how accurate he was. I wondered if he stood just around the corner, timing himself like I timed him. But when I turned, Zack wasn't standing beside the dinky red shipment bin.

It was a fiery red tomato with an odd blue cap and (I'm quite certain) a killer set of abdominals.

...Gray. Gray was standing near my farm's entrance. Sorry for the lame metaphors. Metaphors? Okay, they were more like strange, adjective-heavy phrases. Just roll with me here.

"Ah," The blacksmith looked away; he seemed to decide his shoes were suddenly very interesting. "Your hammer arrived." And there it was, clasped tightly in his right hand.

My mouth opened, the words about to leave my tongue- Shut it.

I shook my head once, like a wet dog drying after a storm. Shake away my instincts. This time, I wouldn't forget.

No thank you's today. Instead I just crossed the short distance and took my hammer from him. Snatched it away, like taking candy from a baby. And Gray was a very big baby.

I turned and walked to my house where I set the hammer down on my crumbling windowsill. I then returned to my watering can, grabbing at the handle.

Stop, turnip time. Ha-ha, how punny. Thank you folks, I would be here all week.

I tried to ignore Gray as I began to water my crops. I felt like I was in a fish bowl and he was the six-year-old tapping on the glass with those stubby, dirty fingers.

Just leave already.

"How have you been?"

I paused, arm bent at a ninety degree angle. How have I _been? _Just peachy Gray, thanks for asking. I bit back the sarcastic retort. Let's be honest, I didn't have the guts to make a comment like that. Not like Karen. No, I didn't give a sassy, Karen-worthy reply.

"Fine."

"Fine," he repeated. I glanced up and watched as he nodded to himself. His arm rubbed the back of his neck nervously; he was still staring at his shoes. "That's good to hear." Pause. "Farm looks like it's coming along well."

Just go away, Gray.

"Yeah."

Please.

"Did you..." I was surprised to see him actually glance up—he even looked me in the eyes. "Did you ever go get an estimate about your barn from Gotz?"

"No."

My answers were so brief. Void of life. It sickened me.

"Oh."

He looked away again, eyes searching. Searching for something else to say. It was so painful, watching him trying to prolong a conversation that was already dead before it even started.

Just go away, Gray.

"Do you-"

"Just go away."

I surprised even myself—that one was out loud.

I cringed and squeezed my eyes shut. How cold. There was even a twinge of anger in my tone. And I was angry. At myself. For having this stupid code and doing this to Gray. But I had to, dammit.

I slowly opened my eyes and stared at the patch of turnips in front of me. The leaves had just started to grow; this batch would be ready soon. I stared at the moist dirt, at the darkened brown color. I squished the tip of my shoe into the dirt, waiting for him to say something. Based upon how short of a temper Gray seemed to have, I'm sure I'd get the rotten end of the stick. Just like his grandfather did last week. I looked up, expecting to see that storm in his eyes.

His reaction hurt more than I had thought it would.

"I'm... Sorry, Claire." He pulled the brim of his hat down, hiding his face from me. "I'll go."

But he couldn't hide the hurt. The tsunami of emotion that had crashed into his being. I only needed that one glance. I knew; he couldn't hide his emotions quick enough. I knew that I had betrayed his trust. This was a man who didn't open up easily. He was shy, reserved, kept to himself. I didn't know Gray all that well, but I could still read people. And everything about him—his posture, his habits, his speech—it screamed that he was alone. Alone like me. But he wasn't doing it willingly, like I was. He was just slow to warm up, that's all. But when he finally relaxed, he was genuine. So when his trust was betrayed, when his feelings were toyed with...

I squeezed my hands into tight, little fists. My nails pricked my skin, digging in.

He had welcomed me into his closed off world and I had spat in his face.

He turned and was walking toward the exit to my farm. I only had about ten seconds to stop him. I opened my mouth, only to close it back up once again.

One, two, three-

I really shouldn't.

Four, five-

I'm not supposed to make friends.

Six, seven-

Apologizing is what friends did.

Eight-

He'd get over it.

Nine-

I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Gray—wait."

I opened my eyes.

His hand was on my gate, but he had stopped. His back was still to me. He said nothing. Just waited. I said nothing. I waited too. For what? I don't know. For my heart to stop racing, maybe.

"Gray, I-" I stepped forward tentatively, my hands coming together at my stomach. Fingers twirled around each other. "_I'm _sorry."

The redhead turned slowly, it seemed to take hours. His expression was again visible: the pain was gone. Replaced with confusion. And curiosity. "Ah, what?"

"That was awful of me. I'm sorry—you didn't deserve that." I stared into those pools of blue, my soul crashing into his being. "I've just... I've got... Things." Such a lame explanation. But I had so say something. My brow crinkled from anxiety, my hands rubbed one another quickly. My mind was racing, begging him to understand. To understand what I couldn't explain.

I let out a soft sigh as his expression softened. He released my gate and took a few slow strides toward me. His steps were much larger than mine. "It's okay," My entire body released the tension within me at those two single words. It's okay. He wasn't angry. He wasn't hurt. "I for one know what it's like to lose control of your temper," He smiled sheepishly and rubbed at his neck again. As I stared up at him, I noticed that he even when he looked at me he wasn't really _looking _at me. He was looking just past the tip of my ear. Or over the top of my head. But that's okay. Because he was trying. Trying so much harder than I was. Well, that's not true. I was trying too—trying to do the opposite.

"Yeah." I glanced down at my hands, inspecting them. There was dirt under my fingernails and blisters on my palms. Yuck. "I don't snap at people very often. So, I'm sorry."

Suddenly two larger hands reached out and grabbed mine, encasing them in their firm grip. Startled, I stared back up at him with wide eyes. His cheeks were faintly flushed; like an embarrassed schoolboy caught passing a note in class. "Trust me, it's okay." There it is again: that sliver of a smile. "I forgive you, Claire."

There was an intensity between us, and it was coming from our linked hands. It was building, growing. Burning. So hot, I couldn't take it anymore. I pulled my hands free and curled them back to my chest, a rueful grin spreading across my mouth. "My hands are dirty." I said instantly, in explanation.

He chuckled softly. A low rumbling sound that came from the center of his chest. I instantly decided that I liked that sound. "I'm not too worried about dirty hands—I work with rock and coal and soot all day."

"I suppose you do."

The blacksmith stared at me for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he thought something over in his head. He seemed torn. Hesitant to say what he was thinking. Finally he seemed to make up his mind. "I know you shot me down once already, but the offer for me to help you fix up the barn is still on the table." I opened my mouth in surprise but no words came out. The barn had been the last thing on my mind as of late. And his offer was just as far off in the distance.

I knew what I was supposed to say. But I didn't want to say it. I didn't want to reject him all over again.

"Gray..." I trailed off and bit my lip. Just say it. I didn't have to be mean, all I had to say was no thank. No thank you, Gray. Maybe some other time. I appreciate the offer, but I'm okay.

But that's not what I said. That is not at all what I said.

"Okay."

Okay. One single word would change my entire life.

Now, I know what you're probably thinking. But trust me, it was definitely possible.


End file.
